


Stranger than Fiction

by St_Salieri



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The X-Files
Genre: Crack, Crossover, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-01
Updated: 2006-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew plays around with dimensions.  Chaos ensues.  AtS/BtVS/X-Files crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranger than Fiction

The first thing Mulder realized when he awoke was that he was hungry.

The second was that he was lying on a cold, damp floor.

The third was that he was completely naked.

So far, then, it was business as usual.

"Ugh," he grunted, rolling to his feet carefully and wincing at the way his ribs creaked. Whoever had dumped him in here hadn't been particularly careful, which didn't exactly bode well for his future welfare. His brain felt weak and fuzzy, as if he'd had his skull drilled into and about a gallon of psychotropics poured in.

It was a feeling he was intimately familiar with.

He appeared to be in a basement of some kind, if the furnace was anything to go by. The room was cluttered with bits of furniture and old boxes, and from the musty smell it didn't appear to have been inhabited for a while. Mulder scanned the room, automatically checking his arms for needle marks and patting his head gingerly to look for lumps. Nothing, which meant that his abductors had either chosen another injection site or used chloroform. But how? And when? The last thing he remembered, he was in the car with...

"Scully!" he called, peering into the dark corners of the room. Had they taken her too? The chances were slim that their abductors would put them together, but he'd been captured by more than his fair share of idiots.

No response. He was about to start checking for a door when he heard a growling rumble from the other side of the room. It didn't quite sound human, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He caught up an old section of pipe that was laying on the floor -- and very sloppy of his abductors to leave weapons laying around like that -- and put his back against the wall.

"FBI," he called in a shaky voice, then winced at the lameness. Okay, so it wasn't exactly true anymore, but it was all he could think of to say. If anyone asked to see his badge, they were shit out of luck.

"Oh," said a strange voice. "Bloody _hell_."

There was a crash as several boxes tumbled to the ground, and then a man stumbled out from behind an old couch. He was short and wiry, of indeterminate age -- thirties, maybe? -- with a shocking tuft of bright blond hair. He was covered in scratches and bite marks, making him look as if he'd lost a round or two with a puma.

And it looked like Mulder wasn't the only one who was lacking for clothing.

"Stop right there," Mulder threatened, raising the pipe. "Identify yourself."

The man merely blinked at him, raised an eyebrow, and stretched fluidly. "Huh," he said, peering around the room. "Don't rightly remember this."

And the man was British. One piece of the puzzle. "Give me your name," Mulder said through clenched teeth.

"Or what?" the man challenged. "You'll give me a good poke with your manly pole?" He tilted his head and curled his tongue behind his teeth in a way that made Mulder feel both vaguely nauseous and strangely aroused.

"Look," he said, holding up his other hand in his best non-threatening gesture, "my name is Fox Mulder. We're obviously both prisoners here. If we help each other out..."

"Fox?" the man sputtered. "Oh, that's a good one."

"You're one to talk, Spike," a third voice groaned.

Mulder whirled around as another naked, disheveled man came staggering out from one of the other corners. This one was American, if the accent was anything to go by, taller and broader than the first, with dark hair and an expressionless face that appeared to be carved in stone. He blearily surveyed the room, then regarded Mulder with a jaundiced eye.

"So who are you?"

"Fox Mulder," the first man -- Spike, apparently -- supplied. "FBI," he added with a grin. "I guess they'll let anyone in these days."

"Great," the dark man muttered. "Nice to meet you." He looked around the room and frowned. "Anyone seen my clothes?"

Spike shrugged and yawned, reaching down to scratch his balls. He didn't seem to be particularly concerned about his nudity, or about the fact that they were all trapped in a strange basement. And the two of them seemed to know each other...which could mean that they were actually part of the trap! Ha! They thought they had him fooled. No matter what had happened to him, his mind was the same steel trap it had always been.

"That's it," Mulder said firmly, tightening his grip on the piece of pipe he held. "Tell me who you work for."

Spike and the dark man exchanged a glance and frowned. "Does he know he's..." muttered the taller man, and Spike shrugged. "Listen," the man growled. "How about we start with who _you_ work for. I've already told the Initiative that I wasn't working for them again, so you can go back and tell your government that..."

"Hang on," Spike interrupted, going from bored to pissed off in 0.5 seconds flat. "You worked for _the Initiative_? You right bastard!" He landed a punch across the other man's jaw, and ended up getting backhanded across the face for his trouble.

"During the War?" the man growled. "Nazis? Subs? Ring a bell?"

Spike's face cleared. "Oh, right." He shook off the blow as if it was no more than a tap, then waved his arm vaguely in Mulder's direction. "Never mind. Carry on, then."

 _What the fuck?_ What war? And... _Nazis_? There was only one possible explanation.

"You work for Them," Mulder breathed, hefting his pipe and steadying himself against the wall. "Don't even think about denying it! I'm so sick of the lies!"

The two men exchanged a glance again. Now they looked like they were holding back laughter, and it infuriated Mulder even further.

"Uh...Them?" Spike asked.

"You know who," Mulder ground out. "Them! The Shadow Men! The Syndicate! Victor Klemper? You know that name? You worked with him, didn't you?"

"Okay," the dark man said slowly, holding his hands up and approaching Mulder with a slightly pitying glance, as if he was merely a misbehaving child. "I don't know who you think we are, but..." Mulder took a swing with the pipe. The man easily dodged the blow, snatching the pipe out of Mulder's hand with a move that was almost too fast for the eye to follow. He casually bent the pipe in half, almost as if he was bending a straw, and tossed it behind him. Mulder blanched.

"You _are_ one of them," he croaked. "A hybrid! One of the Super Soldiers!"

"Enough of this," Spike said, rolling his eyes and heading for the other end of the room. "You two can play twenty questions all you like. I'm out of here."

"Why?" Mulder challenged. "So you can go back to your alien overlords for new orders? I don't think so, Spock."

"It's Spike!"

"Knock it off!" the dark man yelled, and Mulder flinched without meaning to. _Damn_ it. There was something unsettling about this one, some gleam in his eyes that hinted at deep and evil undercurrents. He was clearly the one in charge. The smaller one must be his subordinate. Mulder would have to watch out for this one, keep his wits about him, and...what was he _doing_?

The taller man was leaning into his personal space, and Mulder was suddenly uncomfortably aware that neither of them were wearing anything. The man looked down at him curiously, his brow furrowed in the closest approximation to an actual expression that Mulder had yet seen. And...was the guy _sniffing_ him? The hell?

"Back off," Mulder growled, giving the man an ineffectual push. The man stepped away and frowned, looking slightly ill. He glanced over his shoulder at Spike.

"Let's go," he said. "He comes with us until we figure out what's going on."

"Go where?" Mulder blustered. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You're part of this!"

There was a muffled thump from the corner and a crow of triumph. Spike emerged carrying a pile of clothing. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans, tossing another pair of pants to the tall man with an, "Angel, here."

 _Angel._ One more piece to the puzzle. What kind of girly name was Angel, anyway? _Unless..._ Mulder paled. Could he be an _actual_ angel? Perhaps a Walk-In? His mind was whirling, the pieces falling together. He'd have to tread carefully here until he knew exactly what he was dealing with. He blinked, startled into sudden attention when a pair of jeans hit his chest and slid to the ground.

"Put on your pants and let's go," the angel growled, and Mulder hurried to comply. No matter what happened next, at least he wouldn't have to meet any little grey men without a bit of psychological protection.

"Where are we anyway?" Spike asked. "Wouldn't mind getting some answers myself as to how we all ended up down here."

"It's the Hyperion," Angel said slowly, looking around the room. "I haven't been here since I took over Wolfram & Hart." His gaze settled on what looked to be an old disassembled crib that leaned against one wall, and he looked wistful for a brief second before his gaze hardened. "And it's time to go."

"Hyperion?" Mulder asked. "Wolfram & Hart?"

"Hotel in L.A. and the world's most evil law firm, in that order," Spike answered. "The Los Angeles branch is currently...out of business." He smirked a bit, and Mulder filed away the seemingly useless information for later. Snatching up his shirt that he found draped over the back of one chair, he shrugged it on and followed Angel and Spike up an old wooden flight of stairs.

They emerged into what looked to be a lobby, a old-fashioned desk on one side and a large staircase on the other, the ceiling rising up several floors and giving a sense of open space that was welcome after the cramped feeling of the basement. Mulder blinked at the sunlight that poured through the large glass doors, feeling vaguely ill. The chill of the basement was still with him. He wouldn't be surprised if he was still suffering from the effects of whatever he'd been drugged with.

"Home sweet home," Angel muttered. Spike groaned.

"Please tell me this place has sewer access," he said. "Don't know that I'm up for a romp in the daylight."

Just then the lobby doors flew open, and a short blonde woman holding a sword ran in. She was followed by a mousy-looking man who was avidly studying a piece of parchment, and then...

"Scully!" Mulder gasped. "You okay?"

"Mulder!" she said, easing her gun down but still holding it close at the ready. "I'm fine. You?"

He nodded, throwing a glance at his two companions. Spike had walked over to the girl and slung an arm about her shoulders, and Angel was leaning against the lobby desk, eyeing the rest of the group with a slightly sour expression.

"I came as soon as they figured out where you were," she said in a low voice, eyeing him closely with that detached expression that told him that she was busy cataloging his physical condition. She took his arm and ran her hand over it, wincing at the scratches and scrapes. "Does this hurt?"

"No," he said absently, giving the rest of the group a cautious glance. The mousy man appeared to be explaining something to Angel, who was glowering even more than usual, while Spike was slouching against the girl with an intimate ease that told Mulder everything he needed to know about the pair. "Scully...what's happening?"

She started to answer him, but was distracted by the young girl giving Spike a punch that looked like it would knock a grown man unconscious. He barely wobbled on his feet.

"I can't believe you!" she seethed. She forcibly turned him around and studied the scratches on his back, then yanked him back around and poked at a vicious set of bite marks on his neck. "Angel?" she asked, her voice deadly calm. "Care to explain this?"

"I...I don't remember," Angel said, sounding flustered. "How do you know it was me, anyway?"

The girl stomped over to Angel and pulled his head down, examining a bite mark on his shoulder. Angel stood passive under her inspection, wilting when the girl released him with a glare. Mulder almost snickered at the sight of him cowering there like a large puppy that had just gotten smacked with a newspaper.

"You think I don't know what your bite looks like?" She whirled around when Spike cleared his throat. "Don't... _even!_ " She stalked over to the mousy guy and took his arm in what must have been a painfully tight grip, if the guy's wince was anything to go by. "What happened to them, Andrew?"

"Nothing!" he squeaked. "I mean...okay, _ow_ , Buffy." She released him and crossed her arms over her chest. Okay, Andrew and Buffy. Two more names to add to the group. "I told you they might have some memory loss," Andrew said, twisting the parchment in his hands until bits of it started to flake off. "And that the effects of the portal might be a little, um...unexpected."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Please don't be suggesting what I think you're suggesting," she said heavily.

Andrew cringed, shrugging his shoulders in a nervous jerk. "The effects of this kind of temporal exposure from the portal could have the effect of repressing the upper brain functions and exposing the, uh, primitive impulses."

"Oh god," Angel groaned. "It's all coming back to me. Spike lips! Lips of Spike!"

Spike made a face. "Bloody hell, I'm starting to remember," he muttered. "And right now I'd like to find the nearest bottle of whiskey so I can start right in with the forgetting." He turned to Andrew with a pleading expression. "Can't you do a spell of some kind?"

"No!" Buffy and Angel shouted together.

Mulder closed his eyes and shuddered, assaulted by a sudden wave of images. A bright light, pulling him in, and then darkness, and then two figures. They were monsters, with yellow eyes and twisted faces, saliva dripping from twin sets of jagged fangs. They had turned on each other, shredding clothes and tearing at flesh with a ferocity that left him gasping with fear and arousal. Then they'd turned on him, sniffing him and pawing at him, and then there had been pleasure and pain and biting... _biting_....

"Mulder?" he heard Scully gasp, as if from a great distance away. He opened his eyes to find her backing away from him, shaking her head. The rest of the group was staring at him as well, and Buffy had pulled a pointy piece of wood from some pocket. God, he was hungry.

"What?" He asked. And when exactly had he developed a lisp?

"Mulder," Scully asked carefully, "what happened to your face?"

 

* * *

 

Buffy sat on the arm of the bed and eyed the new vampire warily. Mulder, he liked to be called, which was just as well, because what kind of stupid name was _Fox_ , anyway?

He sat with his head in his hands, a mug of pig's blood untouched in front of him. The woman -- Dana -- sat next to him. She was pale but calm, her eyes glittering with a scary intensity. She kept shooting Buffy glances out of the corner of her eye, and her hand twitched every time Buffy changed position.

Buffy figured that was probably her own fault, what with her trying to stake Dana's boyfriend and everything. Or whoever the hell he was, because one thing was for sure -- no way was that guy an FBI agent.

The six of them had retired to one of the upstairs suites after a brief scuffle and a three-way standoff. Buffy had immediately kicked into Slayer mode, charging Mulder and pinning him to the ground with a stake to his chest. Dana had whipped out her gun and pointed it at Buffy. After a slightly hysterical exchange of, "Drop it!" "No, _you_ drop it!", Angel had intervened by placing himself between the two women.

Which had promptly gotten him shot, the moron.

Even as he'd vamped out and growled at her, Dana had gone white as a ghost but kept the gun rock steady, which...Buffy had to give her props, actually. The woman probably would have made one hell of a Slayer. Still, it was a good thing that Spike had slid up behind her and grabbed the gun away before she could start shooting at someone who was a bit more breakable.

"Don't _do_ that!" Angel had growled, shaking his face off with an effort. "I hate getting shot."

And as Dana had watched with wide eyes, he'd straightened up and poked gingerly at the bullet hole just below his left shoulder.

"Look," he'd said heavily. "Truce, okay? No one's shooting anyone. And no staking, either," he'd said, turning on Buffy as she'd opened her mouth. "Everyone upstairs."

And that's how they'd ended up in one of the abandoned bedrooms. Buffy had sent Andrew out to get some blood and gingerly pried the bullet out of Angel's shoulder -- one of the grosser jobs she'd had to do, but Angel had refused to let Spike anywhere near him with the scissors. Now he was leaning against the doorframe, glowering at everyone, not that she could blame him.

"Okay," Mulder said faintly, his face still buried in his hands. "Let me get this straight. It's the year 2006. I'm in a room with a couple of demons, a superhero, and a guy who does really crappy magic. Oh yeah, and I'm dead."

Buffy cleared her throat and exchanged a glance with Spike, who was slouching against the headboard. "Pretty much," she admitted. "But hey," she added brightly, "it could be worse." Mulder finally looked up and gave her a withering glare, and she winced. "I'm sure I'll think of a reason why in a moment."

"And this so-called portal?" Dana asked. "Do you really expect us to believe that...?"

Buffy fell back against the bed with a groan, tuning out the one-millionth discussion of the reality of temporal portals. Angel had done his best to explain, aided and abetted by Andrew (which had probably done more harm than good), but Dana simply wouldn't get it. How could people who suspected them of working for aliens have such a major problem with magic and the existence of Slayers and vampires? It didn't make any sense.

Not that it made much sense to Buffy either, at the moment. Only yesterday she'd been leading a couple of the proto-Slayers in a training session at the newly-opened LA branch of the Watcher's Council, with Spike providing color commentary, when a portal had suddenly opened at the other end of the large room and a red-haired woman had tumbled out.

She had immediately pulled a gun on them, and it had pretty much gone downhill from there.

By the time they'd gotten her calmed down, Andrew had come running in, babbling something about a temporal portal he'd detected. Dana Scully wasn't exactly ready to accept that she'd suddenly jumped almost five years into the future, but she'd been very interested to hear that Andrew suspected that another portal had opened somewhere in the city.

"These things sometimes happen in pairs," he'd explained. "Were you with anyone when this happened?"

"Mulder," Scully had breathed, snatching up her gun again. "Tell me where he is!"

"Whoa!" Buffy had said firmly. "Guns down, please. We're trying to help you. Andrew, can you find the other portal?"

Five failed spells later, and Buffy had been desperately wishing that Willow wasn't in Nepal. At long last they'd had a probable location, and Buffy had given Angel a call and asked him to meet Spike and help look for the other portal.

"Be careful," Andrew had called out the door after the two of them. "The other portal may not have opened yet, or it may open next week. You never can tell with time travel. Oh! And whatever happens, don't get too close to it. Temporal portals can do strange things." He'd turned to Buffy with a frown. "Do you think they heard me?"

"Things?" Buffy had asked. "What things?"

Andrew had giggled nervously. "Oh, nothing important. Temporary psychosis. Altered behavior. Short-term memory loss. Hey," he'd rushed to assure her, taking several steps safely back, "don't worry. You were far enough away from the one that opened here. And them? I'm sure they'll be fine. Piece of cake."

When Spike and Angel had failed to check in the next morning, Buffy had started to get as worried as Dana. It had taken everything she had to convince the other woman that they did, in fact, know what they were doing. The fact that it took Andrew about half a dozen attempts to complete a successful locating spell hadn't done much to reassure her.

In the meantime, Dana and Angel were still arguing about the damn portal. Not for the first time that day, Buffy wished that Giles was there to do the explaining. He always made everything sound so nice and reasonable.

"Look," she interrupted, sitting up again, "can we give this a rest? I don't know how many more times we can explain it, and we still have to figure out what to do now."

"Send us back," Dana said firmly, and Angel rolled his eyes.

"We can't do that," he said. "Even if we could manage to open a portal from this side...he's a vampire! We can't let him go back like that. And before you ask, no. We can't turn him back either."

"Wow," Andrew breathed. "It's like that episode of _Next Generation_ where the Enterprise-C jumps ahead into the future. Except that they eventually went back, and Tasha Yar got captured by Romulans, and they were all killed. So never mind." He subsided back in his chair.

"Thanks, Andrew," Buffy muttered.

"I can't believe this," Mulder moaned. "I figured I'd eventually get murdered by the Syndicate, or killed during alien experimentation. Something normal. Not turned into a vampire."

"Yeah, about that," Buffy said, folding her arms. "I want to know who's responsible for this."

"Spike," Angel said.

"Angel," Spike said at the same time.

"Oh!" Andrew said excitedly. "We could test his blood, and then compare it to blood taken from the two of them. That way we can see who he drank from, and..."

"Not necessary," Angel said heavily. "Fine. I did it. The whole thing's still a blur, but...I can tell by his scent." He looked over at Mulder and winced. "Sorry about that. I guess we must have been standing right next to the portal when it opened. I wasn't myself."

"That's been his standard excuse for the last hundred years or so," Spike confided, sotto voce. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"It doesn't change anything, you know," Mulder said, staring at the carpet. "No matter what I am, no matter what year this is, I still have a mission. I still have the lies to uncover, the truth to expose. Maybe this is what I'm supposed to be. Is that all that I am, the quest? Is that what I'm...."

Spike interrupted with a tortured groan. "Angel, what is _with_ you? You have the worst habit of picking the whiniest tossers to sire, you know that? Always philosophizing, always looking for a purpose, all of them with _issues_." He sat up and pointed a finger at Angel. "And don't even think about blaming it on the soul. I heard about Penn."

Angel looked sheepish.

"Hey," Buffy said, "speaking of souls...what's up with his? He seems pretty...well, I wouldn't say 'normal', but he's not all with the bloodlust and mindless violence." She turned to Dana. "Does he seem different to you?"

Dana cocked an eyebrow and regarded Mulder critically. "Aside from the complete lack of pulse...not really. Does that mean that he's kept his soul?"

"No," Angel said firmly, shaking his head. "I'd be able to tell."

"Wait," Mulder asked, "I was supposed to lose my soul?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's easy. I already sold mine about a year ago."

Dead silence.

"You..sold your soul?" Dana asked incredulously. "When? How? And you do mean figuratively, right?"

"See, that's the thing," Mulder said. "I always thought so, but I guess it was for real. It happened when I was infected by the alien virus..."

"First time or second time?"

There was a short pause. "Second time. I think. After I was dead. Or was that the third time?"

"Wait, do you mean captured-by-aliens-dead, or Navajo-ritual-dead?"

Buffy snorted. No way had this guy been dead more times than her. Amateur.

"The first. Anyway, Frohike had this source that he said could get me some answers. It was all very cloak and dagger, very Dungeons & Dragons. There was a ritual that I played along with. Honestly, I was at the end of my rope. I thought it was all a joke." Sheepish pause. "We might have been smoking a little weed at the time."

"Let me guess," Buffy interrupted. "There were candles, there was chanting, there was signing in blood, and there was a demon." Mulder nodded. "Oh yeah," Buffy said dryly. "You totally sold your soul. Nice one."

"He promised me a way to find the answers I was looking for," Mulder protested. "I had to do it." He brightened considerably. "Scully, maybe this was his way of fulfilling his end of the bargain! Maybe this is the way to find the truth!"

"Let me get this straight," Dana said after a heavy pause. "You sold your soul...to a demon? Who promised to help you find the truth? And that means that, what? You've been wandering around for the last year without a soul?" She looked thoughtful. "Actually, that does explain a lot."

"Huh," Angel mused. "Maybe your pact with this demon is doing something to preserve your personality, muting the effects of your vampire nature."

Spike clucked sympathetically. "So you were this pathetically single-minded as a human? My deepest condolences."

"What demon was it?" Andrew asked excitedly. "Did he give you his name? Because, I have to tell you, some of those demonic rituals can be a little...." He caught Buffy's eye and coughed. "Not that I know anything about that kind of thing, of course. Hey, could anyone use some food?"

Buffy sighed in relief, happy to have any excuse to take a break. "Yes!" she exclaimed, steering Andrew out of the room. "Food! You're with me." She caught Spike's eye as they were leaving.

"Drink," he mouthed desperately, making the universal gesture for tipping back a shot. Buffy rolled her eyes and nodded, flashing him a quick grin.

She couldn't really blame him, after the day they'd had.

 

* * *

 

By the time Buffy got back with the whiskey, Spike was ready to beat his head against the wall in the hope of knocking himself unconscious. Being trapped in a hotel room with Angel and the two most pathetic humans in existence wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

Actually, the woman wasn't all that bad. A bit on the stodgy side, but he could tell that she had a fire behind her take-charge, no-nonsense exterior, along with a barely hidden lust for violence. She actually reminded him a bit of Buffy, to tell the truth. And if he wasn't mistaken -- he craned his head a bit -- that blouse was hiding some rather impressive assets. Not that he was looking, of course.

Dracula Jr., on the other hand...well, this one was a piece of work, no mistake about it and probably the most pathetic excuse for a vampire that Spike had ever seen. Where was the rage? Where was the fire? At the very least, he should have been attempting to rip Angel's head off. Instead he just sat there, stared into his mug of congealing blood and talked about his mission.

"Maybe you should try to eat something," Angel said heavily, nodding towards the blood. "Because I can tell you, it's not going to get any better just sitting there."

Mulder stared at him. "Is that right? Tell me something, _Angel_. Why should I trust you? How do I know that this isn't drugged? If you think I'm stupid enough to..."

"Mulder!" the woman said sharply, then softened her voice. "Maybe you should listen to what he says. If you're feeling hungry...I have a feeling that's not exactly a good thing for any of us."

Mulder immediately picked up the mug and took a sip, making a face at the taste. Spike snickered. The silly bugger was so whipped. How pathetic.

"Spike."

Oh, thank god.

"Buffy!"

She came in and dropped a large grocery bag on the table, passing Spike a smaller paper bag along the way. He couldn't help grinning at the familiar shape he felt inside. His favorite brand. Good girl.

"There's enough stuff here until tomorrow," she said. "Sandwiches, drinks, stuff like that. I even got some more blood." As she spoke, Andrew followed her into the room, staggering under the weight of a much smaller bag. He dropped it onto the table and rubbed his back dramatically.

"Why do I always have to carry the blood?" he whined.

"Because you break the bottles," Buffy shot back, fishing out another bottle of whiskey and tossing it to Angel, who almost collapsed in relief.

"I owe you," he said fervently. She shrugged and dug into her pocket, extracting Angel's wallet.

"Nah," she said, tossing it to him. "You paid for it." Angel blanched, and Spike rolled his eyes. What a cheap bastard. Opening his own bottle, he took a long sip. God, it tasted like heaven.

"Hey, wait," Angel said suspiciously, looking at Spike's bottle and then double-checking his own. "Why does he get the good stuff?"

Buffy fixed him with a glare, the one that was capable of shriveling a man's balls at fifty feet. "Angel?" she said sweetly. "You killed a man. You don't get yummy presents. You're lucky I got you anything at all." Angel retired sulkily into his corner, pointedly ignoring Spike's triumphant smirk.

"Thanks," Dana muttered, pulling out a sandwich and a soda. She also opened a fresh blood bag and emptied it into Mulder's mug without so much as flinching. Spike's opinion of her promptly shot up another notch.

"That should hold you until tomorrow," Buffy said, collecting her purse. "I think it's best if everyone stays here tonight until we figure out what the plan is. I'll be back later, and..."

"Hang on," Spike interrupted. "You're leaving?" He looked wildly around the room, feeling like a trapped animal. "I'm not staying with them!"

"Spike?" Oh, no. Buffy was using the pout. "Please? I'll be back soon, I promise. I have to go check on the girls, and besides..." She jerked her thumb at Andrew, who was studiously trying to look like he wasn't ogling Dana Scully. Or maybe it was Mulder he was so fascinated with? "...research boy wants to consult the books, and if I leave him to find his own way back there's a good chance he'll wind up in Mexico or something." She batted her eyes at him again. "Please? Just make sure nobody gets eaten." Leaning up, she blew a long breath into his ear, making him shiver. "I'll make it up to you later," she promised huskily, and by the time he was able to get his brain working again she had already collected Andrew and left.

Oh yeah. He knew absolutely nothing about being whipped.

In the meantime, it seemed that Mulder had gotten bored with the blood and moved onto Angel's whiskey. Spike was a bit surprised to find the old bastard sharing, but he supposed that Angel felt too guilty about the whole killing him thing to fight him off. Spike settled back into his chair, nursed his own drink, and did his best to ignore the lot of them.

An hour later, and he was ready to tear his own arm off and beat Mulder to death with it. The other man had followed Spike from chair to bed to sofa, and at the moment was collapsed next to him with a wide, stupid grin on his face.

"You know," Mulder confided, in the perfectly reasonable and very loud tones of the incredibly drunk, "this whole vampire thing may not be too bad after all."

"Is that right," Spike droned in response. Buffy was going to pay for this, no question about it. At the moment, the only thing keeping Spike sane were the plans he was making for her for later. "Why don't you go tell Angel all about it?"

Mulder pulled a face and waved his arm at the bed where Dana and Angel were propped against the headboard, deep in conversation about something that sounded incredibly boring. "I don't think I like him," he whispered loudly.

Spike grinned before he could help himself. "Yeah, you're in good company," he said. "Likes to throw his weight around, that one. And what with him being your sire..." Spike shuddered dramatically and took a long drink. "I don't envy you there."

"And I don't like the way he's looking at Scully, either," Mulder pouted. Spike checked, and...sure enough, Angel had a sappy grin on his face. Spike rolled his eyes. He knew Angel well enough to know that it had nothing to do with alcohol. The old sod had always had a thing for tiny little women who could keep him in his place. At least she had too much taste to be flirting back.

"Hey, I know," Spike said. "Why don't you go over there and talk to him about it? Tell him off?"

Mulder looked interested for a brief second, then collapsed back against the couch. "Nah," he slurred. "I'd rather talk to you." He took a sip of whiskey and eyed Spike closely. "Did I ever tell you about my sister?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

Spike did his best not to scream. _Buffy will make it up to me later. Buffy will make it up to me later. I'll bloody well tie her to the bed, and...._ "Only about five times now," he said through clenched teeth. "Samantha, wasn't it? Kidnapped as a little bit, the government was involved -- or maybe aliens -- and you've spent your life searching for her."

"Yeah," Mulder nodded. "And her soul was stolen by starlight." He took another sip. "But to tell you the truth, I don't think that's what really happened. I think there's a deeper mystery there. And I think it's all tied up with the Syndicate and the Black Oil." He waved his hand vaguely. "You know."

Spike sighed heavily. "Right."

Mulder frowned thoughtfully and regarded Dana for a moment, watching her nurse a beer. "You know," he said, "she can't hold her liquor."

Spike regarded Mulder's bottle of whiskey critically. Even including what Angel had already drunk, the bottle was still over half full. God, what a lightweight.

"Yeah," he said dryly. "Not like you."

Two hours later, and Mulder had thankfully gone to pester Angel, leaving Dana to curl up and doze in the armchair. Whether it was the guilt or the alcohol at work, Angel was getting along with him famously, to Spike's everlasting shock.

"Wanna know a secret?" Mulder slurred. His chin wobbled and his face crumpled, tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes. "I have a son out there somewhere! And I can't be anywhere near him, for his own protection. He's special. He's so, so special." He let out a sob, and Angel patted him awkwardly on the back.

"So do I!" he said in a trembling voice. Oh god. Was Angel going to cry? Promise or no promise, Spike was out the door the minute the waterworks were turned on. "I have a son too," Angel sobbed. "And I can't be with him. It's a big secret."

"And it's getting smaller by the minute," Spike muttered. The two of them were embracing now, patting each other manfully and drunkenly on the back while Mulder babbled something about family being the most important thing in the world and Angel nodded furiously in agreement.

And then they started kissing.

Spike buried his face in his hands and moaned, torn between wanting to escape entirely and wanting to stick around in case Angel said or did something that Spike could use for blackmail later. He raised his head when Dana stirred sleepily and then sat bolt upright.

"Mulder!" she gasped. She looked over at Spike helplessly, and he shrugged apologetically.

"It's a vampire thing. Doesn't mean anything. Try not to take it personally."

"Yeah, but..." She blinked at the pair in shock, then deliberately averted her eyes when Mulder started sucking on Angel's nipples. The rate he was going, the tosser had to have some prior experience at this kind of thing. Spike snickered. Yeah, Angel would top him, and he would beg for more. He was totally the type.

"I think maybe I should go," Dana said, fumbling with her jacket and studiously avoiding looking at the couple on the bed. Mulder broke away from a long and sloppy kiss to look up at her.

"Scully?" he asked pitifully. "Don't go."

"Yeah," Angel agreed, looking up at her with heavy eyes. "Stay."

Dana regarded the two of them cooly, one eyebrow cocked, and Spike folded his arms behind his head and smirked. She was going to leave. A smart woman like her would see right through these two. She was way too good for the likes of....oh, bloody hell.

With an enigmatic little smile, she shrugged her jacket back off and deliberately walked over to the bed.

"What?" Spike sputtered. He watched in shock as Angel pulled Dana to the bed and Mulder attacked the buttons on her blouse. Oh, this was asking too much of him. There was no way in hell he was going to witness this. He was not going to...okay, so she did indeed have a lovely set of tits, but... _no!_ He had to leave. Buffy would kill him if he stayed. Or maybe she would kill him if he left? He couldn't remember anymore. Either way, it was time to take matters into his own hands. Heaving himself out of his chair, he started towards the door, only to crash into Buffy as she came walking through.

"Whoa!" she said, steadying herself. "Sorry I'm late. I had to...." Breaking off, she blinked suspiciously at the moans and sloppy kissing sounds that were coming from the other side of the room. Craning her neck to see around Spike, she took one look at the trio on the bed and deliberately slammed her eyes shut.

"Yeah," Spike said. There was pretty much nothing to add to that.

"What happened?" she whispered furiously. "No wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Spike, do something!"

Spike's nerves were raw and jangling. The scents and sounds coming from the bed were making his teeth itch and his cock harden, even though he was pretty sure that he hated two of the three participants. The male anatomy was a funny thing that way. He'd only been half paying attention to Buffy, but her final words caught his notice: _do something_. His face cleared immediately.

"Really?" he asked in relief. "You don't mind? Come on, then, get your top off. It's been a while since my last orgy, but...." The thought of seeing Buffy and Dana together was making his mouth water. He started to unbutton his pants, frowning when Buffy smacked his hands away.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "I didn't mean to do _that!_ There will be no orgy-having, mister." She took another quick look at the bed, blushed furiously, then snuck a longer glance. Spike leered at her.

"You sure about that?" he asked. "Seems like you're just a tiny bit interested."

Buffy gave him a stony glare, then twisted her mouth into an innocent smile. "Why, Spike," she purred. "Should I be?" She took another glance and pursed her lips. Spike craned his neck to see what she was looking at, and shuddered to see that both Angel and Mulder had removed their pants. What in the bleeding hell was Buffy looking so impressed about, anyway? It's not like they could even begin to compare to...hey! Was she _drooling?_ He growled, and she blinked at him.

"Why, Spike, whatever is the problem?" she asked in a sweet voice. "You're right. And besides, fair's fair." She ran one manicured fingernail up his chest, making him shudder. "I have to say, Mulder is very...impressive. And you already had a chance to play with Angel. I think it's my turn now."

Oh, that was it. The little minx was going to get it now. He swept her over his shoulder, giving her bottom a swat. She was laughing so hard that he almost dropped her, so he righted her, gave her a searing kiss, and dragged her from the room.

The hotel was big enough for the five of them. He'd just make sure to find another floor, just in case.

 

* * *

 

Angel woke as the sky was just beginning to turn pink and grey with early dawn. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he rolled over onto his back.

And froze as he realized that he wasn't alone in the bed.

It took him a moment to realize that he was still in the Hyperion, and that the warm body curled up next to him belonged to Dana Scully.

Angel covered his face with his hands and groaned, peeking out from between his fingers. Yup, she was still there, snoring softly. Of course, that meant that she was at least breathing, which meant that she was still alive, which was a plus. Normally that wouldn't be the first thing he thought about upon waking up with a woman in his bed, but enough strange things had happened during the last twenty-four hours that he wasn't ready to take anything at face value anymore.

And no hangover, which meant that he couldn't even blame last night on the alcohol. No memory loss either, although that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Last night had been a mistake, no question -- just the latest addition to his long list of Really Bad sexual decisions -- but he couldn't really bring himself to wish that it hadn't happened. Mulder had been nicely enthusiastic, once he'd stopped crying, and Dana...well, at one point she'd grabbed the stake that Buffy had left behind and started issuing orders to the both of them. Angel couldn't remember the last time he'd been so turned on.

So Dana was present and accounted for...leaving the whereabouts of his latest progeny unknown. Heaving a sigh, Angel sat up and rolled out of bed, digging around for his pants for the second time in the last day. He jumped as the door swung open and Mulder barreled through, waving a piece of paper.

"I knew it!" he hissed, glaring at Angel. "I knew you were playing me. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

It was simply too fucking early to deal with this. "Okay, what now?" Angel asked tiredly. "And did you get yourself some blood? You should probably eat something. You know, you're still getting used to..."

"Thanks, _dad_ ," Mulder interrupted. "And you didn't answer my question. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? How stupid do you think I am."

Angel chose not to answer that, instead gesturing Mulder away from the bed where Dana was still sleeping.

"What are you talking about?" he whispered. "Find out what?"

"This!" Mulder snarled, shoving the paper into Angel's hand. Angel glanced down briefly to find what appeared to be a handwritten letter decorated with a drawing of the Death Star.

Oh, great.

"Where did you..."

"It was there on the lobby desk when I went down this morning." Mulder began to pace, running his hands through his hair. "That guy, Andrew, was just leaving. He said it explained everything." He swung around and pointed his finger in Angel's face. "You lied to me!" he seethed.

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I...!" Angel broke off and took a cleansing breath. "Look, I have no idea what this is about. Why don't we all sit down calmly and talk about this?"

Mulder gave a cynical laugh. "Right. Because that's what the Syndicate always wants. To talk."

The Syndicate?

"See, I've figured it out," Mulder said, beginning to pace again. "The Watcher's Council? Vampire Slayers? It's so obvious what's going on. It's the same old conspiracy, rotting like a cancer under a pretty new face. These Slayers are just alien/human hybrids, and the Council is really the Syndicate, creating a race of super soldiers to control the populace in the New World Order!"

Silence. Mulder waited, looking very pleased with himself.

"Okay," Angel said heavily. "I think I'm going to go back to bed now and pretend none of this has happened. Wake me up when you start making sense, okay?"

Mulder shook his head, looking off into the distance. "Andrew is the key," he mused. "He's the one who is instrumental in me being here. He must be my new contact. I have to find him." Striding over to the table, Mulder collected a few of the extra bags of blood and shoved them into a paper bag. Angel gaped at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. I need to find the answers, and I can't do it sitting here in this hotel."

"But...you can't leave!" Angel sputtered. "I won't let you!"

And suddenly there was a gun in Mulder's hand, cocked and aimed at Angel's chest. It was the gun that Spike had liberated from Dana the previous day. Mulder must have snuck it back at some point.

"You can't kill me with that," Angel pointed out very reasonably, and Mulder shrugged.

"I can hurt you."

He had a point. After a moment, Angel shrugged wearily and gestured to the door. It wasn't like he wouldn't be able to track the guy down later in about ten minutes flat. If he had to tell the truth, though, the primary reason was that he wasn't looking forward to having Buffy dig another bullet out of his chest.

He just _really_ hated getting shot.

"Wait a second," Angel whispered as Mulder made his way to the door. "What about her?" He gestured to the bed where Dana had just rolled over before settling into a deeper slumber. "Are you just going to ditch her?"

Mulder's face softened for a moment, but he shook his head and looked stoically away. "Tell Scully...tell her that the truth is out there, and I've gone to find it."

And then he was gone.

Angel groaned and walked back over to the bed, collapsing down onto it. The day was certainly off to a fantastic start. Of course -- he snuck a glance at the window -- with any luck Mulder would forget about his brand new sun allergy and the problem would be taken care of. That would certainly wrap things up very nicely. But as tempting as it was to just go back to bed, Angel felt too responsible for the guy. And so he gently shook Dana awake.

"What is it?" she asked blearily. Her eyes widened as she realized where she was, and she grabbed one of the pillows to cover herself up. "Angel," she stuttered. "Look, last night was...but we can't...I mean...."

"I know," he said, quirking a grin at her. "Don't worry about it."

She settled back against the bed with a yawn before frowning and looking around. "What happened to Mulder?"

Angel scratched his head sheepishly. "Yeah, about that....He's gone."

She blinked at him. "Gone?"

He nodded. "Andrew left some kind of letter, and now Mulder thinks that he has some answers, and so he's gone to...hey, where are you going?"

With a weary sigh, Dana leaned over the end of the bed and grabbed her shirt, giving Angel a perfect view of her ass. "I'm going after him," she admitted. "Chances are he'll wind up captured, beaten up, or drugged, maybe all three. Or maybe someone will use some garlic on him. You never can tell. The sooner I get there, the sooner I'll be able to get him out of trouble." She pulled on her pants and stretched, looking around for her shoes.

"I'll have to help you track him," Angel said. "I'm not sure where he's gone."

Dana shrugged. "Not a big deal. I'll find him. I always do."

Angel stared at her. "You're taking this awfully well."

"Well, he does this a lot," she admitted from underneath one of the chairs where she had crawled to collect her socks. "I'm used to it."

Angel coughed delicately. "Look, I hate to say it, but...there's another issue here. He's a vampire now. I can't let him hurt anyone."

Scully surfaced holding Buffy's forgotten stake. She palmed it grimly before stuffing it into her pocket. "Don't worry," she said softly, looking him right in the eyes and smiling sadly. "If I have to, I'll take care of it."

And she would, Angel knew, with the same grim determination with which Buffy had stabbed him through the heart with a sword.

"We'll be in touch," she promised, then blew him a kiss and ran out of the room.

 

* * *

 

It only took a moment's nose work to find where Spike and Buffy had secreted themselves. Angel followed the scent to the top floor of the hotel and paused to listen. There was no sound from inside the room, so he gently pushed the door open and stepped in.

Buffy lay sprawled on the bed sound asleep, the sheet tangled around her waist, exposing her naked torso to Angel's gaze. Spike lay curled around her like an overgrown cat, nuzzling at her stomach while her fingers lazily clenched and unclenched in his hair in a subconscious gesture. It reminded Angel of the way that Connor's hands would curl into fists as he slept in his crib, and his heart twisted.

Spike was the first to sense his presence, opening one eye and then burying his face in Buffy's stomach again with a purring rumble. Buffy reacted with a squirm -- she was ticklish there, as Angel knew -- and opened her eyes as well. She yelped at seeing Angel standing at the doorway and yanked the sheet up above her head. Spike, as usual, didn't make any effort to cover himself up.

"God!" Buffy gasped from beneath the sheet. "Don't you knock?"

"Sorry," Angel apologized, trying to ignore the possessive stare Spike was giving him or the way the guy's hand snuck underneath the sheet towards Buffy's body. "Look, it's Mulder and Dana. They've left."

"Left?" Buffy popped her head out and blinked herself all the way awake. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know," Angel admitted. "Andrew apparently left some kind of letter. Look, I'll meet you guys in the lobby, okay?" And without another word, he strode out and closed the door behind him. He paused to listen, and shook his head in disgust at the breathy giggle he heard Buffy let out. Spike's hands had obviously found their mark. Christ, at this rate they would never come downstairs. "Five minutes!" he shouted at the closed door, feeling crankier by the second, and then made his way towards the elevator.

It was closer to twenty minutes before they all reassembled in the lobby, each of them looking a little worse for the wear.

"So," Spike said, hopping up to sit on the counter. "They've run off, eh? Left you all alone? So, so sad."

Buffy rolled her eyes and smacked him on the leg. "You said there was a letter?" she asked. Angel nodded and handed it over.

"I haven't had a chance to read it myself yet. Mulder found it down here. Apparently Andrew left it late last night or early this morning."

Buffy studied the letter and snickered at the drawing for a second before clearing her throat. "Okay, here's what it says:"

 

>   
>  _Dear everyone,_
> 
> _Hi, it's Andrew, but I guess you knew that. Have you ever had something happen that you wanted to happen, but when it happened it was different from what you thought it was going to be like when it actually happened?_

 

"Oh, stake me now," Spike groaned, and Angel looked at him with a jaundiced eye.

"Don't tempt me," he muttered. Buffy shushed them both and continued.

 

 

> _See, sometimes the Powers work in mysterious ways, which means that this was really supposed to happen all along and it's not my fault._
> 
> _Okay, here's the thing: I made the portals. I didn't mean to bring them through, honest! I was trying to access the Bralith dimension, just for practice. It was supposed to be foolproof! Willow taught me the spell, and I did exactly what she said. Well, except that we were out of harga weed, so I substituted some nutmeg, but that was it! Come to think of it, maybe the nutmeg had something to do with the whole, uh, primal behavior thing. Should I have used cloves instead? I'll have to ask Willow about that. But let us put the past behind us. Mistakes happen. Let us speak of more pleasant things._
> 
> _Anyway, I'm really, really sorry this happened, and I'm going to try to find a way to put everything back the way it should be. I'll be off doing research -- not here, somewhere else. Somewhere very far away, just in case anyone is holding any irrational grudges. I'll get in touch when I've found something._
> 
> _Let us not say goodbye, but au revoir._
> 
> _Andrew_
> 
> _P.S. If he's not too mad, could you ask Agent Mulder to sign my copy of 'Call of Cthulhu'? I left it under my mattress. Thanks._

 

There was a heavy silence.

"That's it. This time, I'm going to kill him," Angel stated calmly.

"Not if I get there first," Spike growled.

"Guys!" Buffy said. "We can't kill Andrew, as tempting as it is." She looked worried. "Is that where Mulder went, do you think?"

Angel shrugged. "I think so, but...I don't think he's mad. He seems to think that, since Andrew's responsible for bringing him here, he has some answers for him. He started babbling about his conspiracy theories -- I didn't really pay attention."

"Huh," Spike mused. "Maybe he thinks Andrew works for the demon he sold his soul to? The one who promised him some answers?"

Angel barked out a laugh. "Maybe. Who knows, with that guy? Anyway, he's off to track Andrew down, and Dana's off to track Mulder."

"I guess that leaves us to track all three of them," Buffy said heavily. "Crap. And I was really looking forward to going to the beach today. Maybe I will have to kill Andrew after all. Let me go collect my stake, and...."

Angel coughed. "Yeah, uh...Dana has it. And Mulder has the gun." He turned to Spike. "Nice job hiding that, by the way."

"What?" Spike said in exasperation. "He's _your_ get. You couldn't be bothered to keep an eye on him yourself? I'm not my brother's bloody keeper, alright?"

Buffy stared at Angel in shock. "She...she stole Mr. Pointy? Oh, that's it. I've changed my mind: _she's_ the one who's going to die." She stomped towards the front doors of the hotel and pushed them open. "Come on, guys," she growled. "The sun's up already. You take the sewers, and I'll meet you back at the Council offices."

"So that's that," Spike said, watching as Buffy disappeared out the door. "Guess we've got a new job on our hands." He perked up. "Actually, since this is Andrew's fault, I bet we could get away with charging the Council twice our usual fee for helping to clean up their mess. What do you say?"

Angel blinked thoughtfully. "You know, that's not a bad idea," he admitted grudgingly. "And of course, they don't need to find out about the whole Mulder being a vampire thing."

"What they don't know won't hurt them," Spike agreed. "That's my motto." He jumped down from the counter and headed for the basement door. "Come on. I'll bet we can scrounge some weapons down there before hitting the sewers."

"Yeah," Angel agreed, and couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of it all. "And who knows? Maybe Mulder will find the answers he's looking for after all."

"Hang on," Spike said, stopping dead in his tracks. "I just thought of something. He told you about his sister, right? The missing one, the one who started this whole thing?"

"Several times," Angel sighed. "And unfortunately, I'll never be able to forget it now. Samantha Mulder, kidnapped in November of 1973 from their home in Martha's Vineyard. Why?"

Spike coughed nervously, kicking at the floor. "Yeah, about that," he said. "Something just hit me. I didn't even think about it last night, probably because I wasn't really paying attention while he was babbling."

He fell silent until Angel prompted him with a, "What?"

"Well, I just remembered that Dru and me were in the Vineyard during the winter of 1973."

A long pause. "Spike," Angel said carefully, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I don't know what I'm saying! We were in New York that year, see, and Dru was in the middle of her T.S. Eliot phase and wanted to spend the winter near the ocean. So we went to the Vineyard in...I don't know...October? November?" He shook his head. "We did the usual, hung out, snacked on the locals. I don't remember much of it, to be honest. I was bored out of my mind the entire time. But I do remember this one house we went to. There were this boy and girl home alone, and Dru knocked on the door and got the girl to come out onto the porch. Well, we made a good snack out of her, but then the boy came out and saw our faces and started shouting something about us being aliens. Neither of us were really that hungry anymore, so Dru decided to have a bit of fun and play one of her little mind games on him. By the time we left, we had the poor sod convinced that he'd seen a bloody spaceship come out of the sky and scoop his sister up. We had a good laugh about it later." Spike scratched his head sheepishly. "Funny thing, eh? Small world, and all that."

Angel leaned heavily against the wall. "Let me get this straight: this guy's lifelong obsession with alien conspiracies was triggered because... _you ate his sister?_ "

"Well, I didn't have a soul then, did I?" Spike said defensively. "You're the one who killed him. You're not much to talk."

"I guess not," Angel muttered.

"Not much we can do about it now, is there?"

"Nope."

"And no use in telling Buffy, right?" Spike said hopefully. "After all, it would only upset her."

Angel shuddered. "God, no."

They stood in silence for a long moment before Spike cleared his throat. "Well, what do you say we find those weapons and hit the sewer? The sooner we find them, the sooner we can get all this sorted out. Minus the confessing our sins part."

Angel shook his head ruefully. "You know, I think he's better off not knowing. It gives him something to fight for. This way, for him, the truth is still out there."

Making their way back down into the basement, the two of them collected their weapons and vanished into the sewers.


End file.
